


The Two Fist-Fighters

by silvermax



Series: Max Vandenburg [1]
Category: The Book Thief - Markus Zusak
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Gay Male Character, Love, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21816091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvermax/pseuds/silvermax
Summary: Walter and Max have known each other since they were fifteen. Eventually, respect gave way to friendship, and friendship gave way to love. But in a world that is slowly closing in on them, will it ever be?
Relationships: Walter Kugler/ Max Vandenburg
Series: Max Vandenburg [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671955
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

August 16, 1931. The sun was high, and so was the tension. The boys were all gathered in a park in Stuttgart by the Neckar River. Although it was five-thirty, it was still as hot as if it was noon. There were shouts, cheers. "Place your bets here!" shouted a kid with red hair and freckles. And in the middle of it all, two boys stood, staring each other down.

Really, the whole thing had started five hours earlier. Max Vandenburg and his friends were roaming the streets, as they did every summer day. Just wandering, looking for fun. It was hot as all hell with almost no shade, but hey, it sure beat sitting around in their stuffy apartments. The boys turned a corner and saw a group of well-dressed boys. Starched shirts, patent leather shoes, neatly combed hair. They'd clearly been at church that morning. Max and his friend Jakob Eckstein looked at each other and grinned. _Time to ruin those nice_ _clothes._ So they each picked up two handfuls of gravel and threw them. 

Max, not having the best aim, didn't land his first fistful, but the second hit one boy's shirt, leaving dusty brown spots. "Look at your fancy shirt _now_ , pretty boy!"

Lots of jeering. Then the boy turned around, and he realized he recognized him. Walter Kugler. One of his classmates. Catholic, like most of the kids at their school, and fairly well-off. He was about fifteen centimeters taller than Max and strong, too, so nobody wanted to piss _him_ off. "Excuse me, did you just throw that?"

"Um...."

"No, really." He stepped forward. "I'm genuinely curious. Did you just throw that gravel?"

Feeling bold all of a sudden, Max said, "Yeah. What about it?"

"Well, how about instead of throwing _gravel_ , like a little _boy_ , you face me and fight like a man?"

Max gulped. _Oh, shit_ _._ But, not being one to turn down a good fight, he said, "Let's do it, then." He got into the position, and the boys on both sides whooped and clapped.

"No, no, no." Walter put up his hand. "Not now. How about we meet at the park at five-thirty?"

"Oh, are you _scared_?"

"Why, of course not. It just wouldn't be proper to do it here, out in the open." He grinned. "And besides, if we fight over there, you can clean your wounds in the river."

"You mean _you_ can clean _yours_."

He chuckled a little. Max sure did have a loud mouth. But could he really fight? "We'll see about that." As he turned to leave, he said, "See you then."

* * *

So now, here they were, in the park. Max threw the first punch. A quick jab, to the cheek. Walter laughed a little. "That didn't even hurt."

"Well, I'm just getting started, asshole."

They went on like this, Walter clearly having the upper hand. He had more skill, more experience. Max felt blood drip into his mouth. He kept going, although to everyone else, it was clear he wasn't going to win. Still, he wanted to prove a point to this stuck-up asshole. But before he could think, the taller boy knocked him back, and as he hit the hard ground, he felt a sharp pain in his back.

Walter's friends cheered, and he looked up at their laughing faces. _Shitheads_. He wasn't going to go down _that_ easy, oh, no. He stood back up, and everyone gasped. "I knew you could do it!" shouted one of Max's friends, Bernard.

 _Well_ , thought Walter. _He may lack experience, but he's got determination, I'll give him_ _that._ He went for the other boy's stomach once again, and he shuffled back a bit, but didn't fall over.

Max was knocked down once again. And that was when he got an idea. _I'm going to try something different this time._ He got back up and tried to lure his opponent closer to him. He knew there was the possibility that this tactic wouldn't work, but it was worth a shot. He was much lighter on his feet than Walter, so he could dodge if need be.

Once Walter was close to him, a bit too close, he struck the bridge of his nose, just as Isaac had taught him. _Bash the tears out of_ _him._

From there, it was all Max. As Walter shuffled back, he ran at him, struck him in the ribs. And now for the final blow: to the chin. That did it. The other boy was in the dirt. Max puffed out his chest, stood as tall as he could, and gave the crowd the type of smile that said, "Oh, this? It was easy."

Walter finally, grudgingly, got up and raised the victor's hand in the air. He'd gotten this kid all wrong. That little shit was a force to be reckoned with. "Thanks," said Max.

The other boy glared. "Hey, next time I kill you."

"We'll see about that."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-harm TW here.

Gradually, their fights became a ritual, of sorts. Their fights would always be on Friday evenings, at that same park where their first bout was. By their fifth round, though, it was less aggressive and more playful. Walter may not have been too happy about that first defeat, but he sure did admire that boy's spunk. And Max didn't think he was so bad after all.

Still, even if their fights were playful, Maximiliane Vandenburg really didn't like her son coming home with bruises. She'd try to tend to his injuries, but he'd say, "Mama, I'm not a little boy anymore. I can take care of myself."

Really, he didn't want her to tend to his injuries lest she somehow see the map of cuts and scars on his body, too neat to be inflicted by any fighter, no matter how skilled he may be. They were evidence of a losing battle with himself, to regain control of his life.

When he was eleven, he loved that feeling he got after his first fight, of triumph and strength. Even if nothing real had happened, he felt something he hadn't felt in a while. Like he was in control.

That year hadn't been a good one. He felt, for some reason, unstable. He'd find himself laughing or crying for no clear reason, and he worried he was going over the edge. He was just so angry, too, for reasons he didn't know. His teachers' complaints about his behavior went from the standard "Your son was being disruptive and not doing his work" to "Your son was in a fight" or, one time, "Your son kicked a ball at a kid's face when he wouldn't let him play."

Maximiliane was, of course, shocked. He'd always had a lot of energy, sure, but he was _never_ violent. Her first thought was that he was resentful because she was seeing someone at the time. He'd never particularly liked her boyfriends. But even after the relationship had ended, he was still acting like that. So her next theory was that he was distressed from being uprooted two years earlier, but that was ruled out, too, because he hadn't been acting like that _when they moved_. Then, maybe it was stress? Poverty _is_ stressful, after all. 

One day, when Max was in Year Seven, things came to a head when her boss called her into his office, explaining that her son's school had called. "I don't usually let employees take calls during work hours, but they said it was urgent."

So she took the receiver from him and asked what had happened. According to the headmaster, Max had thrown a book at a teacher and sworn at her. Then, in the office, he'd flipped off the headmaster and punched him in the stomach. When she arrived at the school, there were police officers in the room! She looked towards them, then Max, who was staring at the floor. No. This wasn't like him at all. "Are you... are you going to arrest him?"

"We won't arrest him right away, don't worry, ma'am. But if either of the people he hit decide to press charges, we _will_ have to arrest him." He looked intently at her. "I hope you understand how serious this is, ma'am. We're looking at juvenile detention here."

Thankfully, neither the teacher nor the headmaster decided to press charges. But, still shaken up from this whole thing, on the streetcar, Maximiliane severely reprimanded her son. "Do you realize where that type of behavior will get you? You're lucky you're not in a cell right now!"

He just looked at the floor. He, too, was in disbelief at what he'd done. It was as if he'd acted on an impulse. "Max," said his mother, her voice softer. "What compelled you to do that?"

"I don't know," he grunted. He really didn't.

The next year, about a week after his uncle's death, he made his first cut. Shocked at what he'd done, he promised himself it would be a one-off and he'd never do it again. And for about two weeks, he managed not to do it again. But before he knew it, he found himself gravitating to the blade, day after day after day. And over the years, just like fighting, it was a way for him to feel strong, like he was in control. In the back of his mind, though, he knew it wouldn't last. But, oh, how he wanted it to.

* * *

Walter, on the surface, lived a pretty good life. His father, Erwin Kugler, was a doctor, and had been a medic during the war. He was often swallowed up in his work, so he may only see his family at night. His mother, Eva Kugler (nee Franke), was the typical housewife. She spent most of her time shopping, or doing housework, or what have you. Like her husband, she was cold and controlled. Together, they brought up three sons, Herbert, Bruno, and Walter, teaching them to be gentlemen with fine manners and strong religious convictions. The former Walter had (somewhat), and the latter he did not.

He was at that age where his older brothers had already begun to express interest in girls. And yet, when it came to girls, he felt.... nothing. This frightened him. But he wouldn't have paid it any mind if it wasn't for the fact that he had an interest in _boys_. He'd known since he was around nine, but he wouldn't have called it romantic then, oh, no. It was more that he felt a sort of attachment to certain boys. When he was around them, he felt giddy and excited. And he found that he'd fixate on certain details about the boy, like his hair, his eyes, his lips. It was only recently, though, that it occurred to him that _perhaps he loved boys_.

He'd heard the passage in Leviticus over and over. "Man should not lie with man as you would a woman." But still, what if he wanted to? Was it so bad to feel love for another man, as his brothers would for a woman, as his father felt for his mother? It wasn't like he could control it, anyway. Many a night, he knelt and asked God about this, but when He didn't answer, he became frustrated. All he knew was that he could _never_ look his parents in the eyes and tell them.

At school, he saw how the other boys relentlessly tortured those they perceived to be homosexual. Not wishing to be the target of such torture, he tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible. _Nobody can suspect a thing._

He and Max got closer over time, talking and joking about their lives. But all that time, he was debating. Should he tell Max? They were getting friendly, but was he trustworthy?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a suicide attempt in here, just as a warning.

The political climate in their country was turning sour, and fast. The country had been unstable for quite a while before then, with widespread poverty and unrest. Walter remembered being five years old and seeing his parents whisper about something every night. He asked Herbert, who was ten at the time, what they were talking about, and he just shrugged and said, "Grown-up stuff. Money." And Max remembered how he and his mother ate nothing but hard bread and canned meat for several months that year. How his mother was always struggling to make rent.

When both boys were about eight, things got somewhat better economically. But that didn't last. When they were thirteen, the stock market crashed. And ever since then, people had been pretty restless. They even saw it at school, when the sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds talked among themselves about what they would do with their lives now that the economy had "gone to shit". When the Hitler Youth kids talked about how the Jews were the ones responsible for the country's financial problems, that they were filling their pockets while the people suffered.

Max knew this was patently false, as his family was suffering just the same as everyone else's, if not worse. In fact, they were so poor that once, when his little cousin Katja stole a single mark from her mother, she yelled at her, saying, "Do you have any idea what this means for us?"

Walter's family was better off than this, of course, but they had to cut back on some things. His mother didn't shop as much anymore, just for the essentials. His parents used to let the boys borrow money whenever they liked, but now they refused. 

Everyone was well aware by now of the National Socialists, or the Nazis, if you will. Some of the kids at their school believed in the party's promises, talking nearly incessantly about how this Adolf Hitler person would restore Germany to its former glory. There were even a few teachers who were members of the party, one of whom wore the armband almost every day. One day, when Max was in Year Eight, he'd decided to wear his kippah that morning, and as he was walking to a class, this man cast him a glance severe enough to make his blood freeze. It was enough to make him stop wearing it in public.

Max and Walter talked about this quite a bit when they were together. They both found Hitler to be utterly ridiculous. His promises of "restoring the European race" seemed over-the-top and a bit maudlin, and his behavior was _laughable_. His big, exaggerated gestures, the way he spoke.... honestly, who the hell would vote for that? Still, for Max, he was a bit scared that someone with such awful beliefs about his people had gained that much traction. Still, he'd faced his fair share of harassment over being Jewish already, so he figured this fellow couldn't be any worse.

They were sixteen now. By this point in time, most of Max's cousins had families. Isaac, who was now twenty-four, had a son and two daughters, for example. The boy cousins and one of the girl cousins had moved out, so now the apartment felt somewhat.... _empty_. He found himself thinking about all his practice fights with Isaac, who was, back then, a skinny kid of seventeen. Oh, things had been so much simpler back then! Where had all the time gone?

Walter's brother Herbert was married, too. His wife, Elsa, was a sweet girl with dark hair and hazel eyes. She was very short, too. The wedding was fun, but when Herbert slapped him on the back and said, "One day, it'll be you at the altar", he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Walter knew now that he was _definitely_ interested in boys, and that that meant he'd never get married. _No one can know, no one can know_.

Even now, he was still debating whether to tell Max. As far as he knew, Max wasn't the same. After all, he had a girlfriend! Tania Eckber. She was pretty, he had to admit, and nice, too. It was amusing to hear him talk about her. "I've been blessed," he said one afternoon when they were at work. 

Walter laughed a bit at that. "Well, I wouldn't say _that_...."

"But really, I think she's the love of my life." Max smiled to himself. "I'm lucky."

Walter sighed. When he was fourteen and fifteen, he'd tried dating girls just to see if he was really as uninterested in them as he thought he was. But none of them lasted. He never felt anything _real_ for them. And who knew? Maybe he'd _never_ find the love of his life.

* * *

Hitler was appointed chancellor later that year. Max and his family were _shocked_. "How did this happen?" asked his aunt Ruth when the results were announced.

Then, a month later, someone had set fire to the Reichstag. Hitler's next move in this crisis was to blame it on the Communists and declare a state of emergency. Basic civil liberties were abolished, which frightened the Vandenburgs even more. They knew this was not a good sign. It was a matter of time before everyone became suspicious of each _other_. Kids at school often asked each other if they were Communists, and of course, the response would be "no".

The rest of the year was a whirlwind. There was yet another election. Both Max's and Walter's families gathered around the radio the night the results were to be announced, anxiously awaiting the news. Nineteen-year-old Bruno Kugler, now a Brownshirt, said that night, "I hope people came to their senses after that whole thing and voted for Hitler." Walter thought of his friend and gulped. God, he hoped that wasn't the case. 

"And the votes are in," said the announcer. On two different sides of the Neckar River, two fist fighters' hearts were pounding. _Come on...._ they both thought. _Let there be some hope._

"The Bavarian People's Party, led by Heinrich Held, won 18 seats and 2.7% of the popular vote." His voice crackled over the radio.

"Well, that's two less seats than last time," remarked Frau Kugler. She'd been paying attention to politics quite a bit these days. "That's strange."

"The German National People's Party, led by Alfred Hugenberg, won 52 seats and 7.97% of the popular vote."

 _Please don't let them win._ "Center.....74 seats....." _Alright, they still have a few more parties to go. There's still a chance._ "Communist.... 81 seats....." _Well, that's understandable, considering last month's hysteria._

Max tapped his foot nervously. Something in the back of his mind told him he shouldn't expect any other party to win, but he was still holding out hope for now. "Socialist.....121 seats....." He felt his heart sink. Oh, no. That only left one party. 

"The National Socialist German Workers' Party, led by Adolf Hitler, won 288 seats and 43.9% of the popular vote."

His cousins were all looking at each other. They weren't yet aware of what this would mean for them, but the news was still terrifying. They now had a chancellor who was willing to suspend peoples' rights in favor of "national security".

The next day, Max and Walter saw each other. Walter tried to offer him a shaky assurance that it couldn't be that bad, but it was useless. _What does_ he _know?_ thought Max. _It's not going to affect him._

The Enabling Act was passed, which meant Hitler could pass whatever laws he wanted without the Reichstag's input. Then in May, there was the first book-burning, in Berlin. The newsreels in the movie theater showed it all: the pages curling in the flames, those young, impressionable kids in Hitler Youth uniforms singing, the ominous salutes. Max almost gagged when he saw it. _Is this real? Or am I dreaming?_

In July, every other political party was banned. It was over. There was no hope of another election. And by this point, it fully registered with Max and Walter that this man was a dictator. Walter, especially, had many an argument about it at dinner with Bruno, who insisted Hitler could do no wrong, but their parents always shut them down with, "Boys, stop that fighting. It's not going to help anything."

Still, despite all this, there was nothing they could do but move forward with their lives. They both started Year Twelve, their final year of school. Max hoped to go to university, believing it to be his ticket out of poverty. Walter thought of going to university, too, but only because his family expected him to.

Max didn't tell anyone about this, but the unraveling that had started when he was eleven was finally taking hold in a way that scared him. Occasionally, he'd hear voices, saying things like "Get out", or "Sh". The previous year, he'd been riding with Bernard in his father's car when he thought he heard his friend's voice telling him to jump out. So he tried to, but then Bernard shouted, "What are you doing?!" and pulled him back. Then, horrified, he realized he'd hallucinated that. Sometimes, he'd find himself muttering nonsense words to himself. He found the only way to calm himself was to smoke, and that he did, quite frequently.

One day in September, he just felt so low, and he couldn't figure out why. Then, when his English teacher wrote the date on the board, he remembered why. It was fifteen years, to the day, of his father's death. All day, he thought about it. _Papa, if you were here, you would have helped me with this. Why did you have to die?_ Then, at home, sitting in his room, he heard a gentle, sweet voice (he imagine it was his father's): "Kill yourself, kill yourself. Put yourself out of your misery."

So, at the estimated time of his father's death, he sat on the windowsill, assuring himself that he'd be alright, he'd join his father, wherever he was. Then, as he jumped, he felt a sort of calm wash over him, and I poised myself to catch his soul. But that calm was shattered as he hit the ground with a thud and felt a searing pain in his legs. _Am I dead?_

"Hey, kid, who are you?" said a voice.

He woke up on the sidewalk. "Wha....."

The voice was coming from an older man. "Alright, good, you're awake. What's your name?"

"M....Max Vandenburg."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Where are your parents?"

"My mother's in that building. Number...." What was it? "502, I think."

All he remembered after that was waking up in the hospital. Each of his legs had a cast. His mother was stroking his hair, telling him she loved him. "I love you, too, Mama," he said, feeling like he was about to cry.

When he was out of the hospital, he told Walter about this, with much reluctance. Walter gasped when he heard this. "Max, I....I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do to help...."

"No, no." He sighed. "I just want somebody to talk to about this stuff."

"Well, of course. I'm here if you need anything." He felt a heaviness in his heart for Max and all he had to go through. He pulled his friend into a hug, something they hadn't normally done.

Max hugged him back. "Thanks, Walter. I needed that."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smut here.

In the days that followed, both boys just tried to move on. Max wanted to be a journalist when he grew up, because he'd always loved to write. Walter, on the other hand, didn't know what he wanted to do. Perhaps he could be a doctor, like his father. That seemed to be the easy path. Do what his father did. 

Unfortunately, the Editors' Act was passed in October, banning "non-Aryans" from working in journalism. When this measure was passed, Max figured he might as well just not go to university. Plus, by this point, he didn't think he was mentally stable enough. Walter tried to reassure him that he could try again when this all "blew over", but to no avail. Deep down, Max knew it was useless.

In March, they both took the Abitur, like everyone else. And after that was a period of waiting. Waiting for the school year to end. Waiting for the certainty they thought was manhood. Right now, especially, their lives were so uncertain, their futures hanging in the balance- things were simpler when they were young boys.

Walter felt a strange attachment to Max, that boy he'd fought two years before. He wanted to stroke his hair, ease all his suffering, tell him everything would be alright. Intellectually speaking, he knew he couldn't ease his friend's pain, as it was being inflicted on a much deeper level than he could even fathom.

In May 1934, they finished school. To celebrate this, Max hosted a party in his apartment. His mother, surprisingly, was alright with him having a party, and with the guests drinking, just as long as they didn't engage in any dangerous behavior. After all, her son was an adult, she thought, so why should she care? When Walter arrived, she was sitting serenely in the living room, just watching her son's guest socialize and drink. Wow. _His_ mother would _never_ be that lenient. 

At one point, Max and Tania snuck out of the apartment. Feeling bold from the drinks, he had an idea. They both would lose their virginity that night. So they went out to his car, a hand-me-down from his late uncle. Once there, they got in the backseat, started kissing. Then he straddled her, feeling his crotch start to stiffen. They'd simulated this quite a few times, at her apartment when her parents weren't home, but he just knew this would be the real thing. "Do you want this, my love?"

"Yes," she whispered, blushing at the pet name.

So he kissed her neck, and as he did, he undressed her, slowly, carefully. Then after undressing himself, he remembered something Isaac had told him during one of their talks about women. He'd told him that often, the first time hurt for a woman. "I heard it hurts."

"Oh, I'll be fine."

So, spreading her legs, he pushed into her. He kept thrusting, feeling a bit awkward because he wasn't completely sure what he was doing. But his girlfriend seemed to like it. Besides, they were both young and inexperienced. They were still figuring it out. All in all, he found the experience exhilarating: her legs wrapped around him, being skin-to-skin with her, every little noise she made..... it was great.

Unfortunately, afterwards, Tania sighed and, getting dressed, said, "Max, if I'm honest, I think we should part ways."

He was _shocked._ _Really?_ "Why?"

"Well.... I just...." She thought for a second. "I just don't think we're working as a couple. It doesn't feel like there's any real..... _connection_ between us, you know?" She got up and opened the car door. "Goodbye, Max. We had a good two years. But..... it's over." And with that, she got out of the car and out of his life.

When Walter finally found Max, he was sitting in the back of his car, staring at the floor. He opened the door and got in with him. "Hey. What's the matter?"

Max sighed. "Tania and I are..... finished. She said she didn't think we had a _connection_." He chuckled dryly. "You know, I wonder if she hates me."

"Oh, Max, that's ridiculous. She doesn't hate you." He felt that heaviness in his heart for him, once again. He'd seen him have his moments of self-doubt, but usually, he got over it.

"She does. I just know it." Right now, Max was getting that awful feeling, where his mind raced faster than he could keep up with, filling his head with all sorts of thoughts that made no sense. "That's why she left. It's why she left. I know it."

Walter gulped, unsure of what to do. His friend had been acting strange for the past few years, but right now, he didn't know what to make of it. "Max, relationships are just like that sometimes. Maybe she...."

Already consumed with his own thoughts, he started to cry. Then, through his tears, he said, "Leave me alone!"

"Alright." So he got out of the car. But as he walked, he turned to look back at Max. Would he be alright? That was the question that plagued him all the time, about Max's well-being. In a way, he wanted things to be normal again. Simple. But things couldn't be simple, no. Their lives had changed too much to ever be simple again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide warning!

Max's mental state only got worse from there. He could hardly understand his own thoughts. The voices in his head got louder and louder. One night, he saw his father standing in his bedroom doorway. Fully intact, wearing his army uniform. "Papa?"

"My son," he said. "I've waited for you."

Max reached out to touch him, but he disappeared. Profoundly distressed (and confused), he decided to just go back to sleep. But, like most nights, he found he had some trouble staying asleep.

On the surface, he seemed alright, for a while. He still went to work every day, full-time now. He was facing increasing hostility from his co-workers these days. Most refused to sit near him, and once, one of them wiped off a piece of machinery he'd just touched. Max was hurt at the implication, but he just brushed it off. _He's just being an asshole._

But still, he just couldn't handle the noise in his head. Sometimes, he wondered if the voices were really right. That the world would be better off without him. After all, the outside world was telling him this, too, just in a different way. Finally, one evening in September, he got back from work and made his way to Daniel and Ruth's bedroom. For the past five years, he'd made a point not to go in there because even after all that time, it just reeked of death to him. But he was there for something important. He knew his uncle had kept a Luger in his closet, and as far as he knew, nobody had gotten rid of it. He sifted through old, dingy clothes. _Come on, it's_ got _to be in here._ Just then, his hand brushed against something cold and hard. He picked it up, and there it was. _Finally._

Hands trembling, he put the muzzle of the gun to his chest. As his fingers reached for the trigger, he thought, _This is it. I'll end this once and for all._ He pulled the trigger, and I hovered over him, half-hoping I wouldn't have to collect his soul. _Goddamn it, Max, don't slip away. Remember what you promised?_

Everyone was in the living room when a gunshot rang out. Ruth and Maximiliane, worried that someone had come into the apartment and shot Max, told everyone to stay back and ran towards one of the bedrooms, where the shot had come from. What they saw next, though, was not what they'd been expecting.

Maximiliane couldn't help herself. Seeing her son in a heap on the floor, blood pooling in his shirt.... she burst into hysterical sobbing. "Max!"

Ruth felt around for a pulse, and found one. _Thank God._ "He's still alive. But we need to get a doctor. And fast."

Max woke up in the hospital, his shirt open. His chest was still paining him terribly. _I'm...._ alive? "What happened?"

"You almost died," explained Ruth. "It's a good thing we were able to get you to the hospital in time."

Later, he asked one of the nurses, "How am I still alive?"

She cleared her throat. "Well, you're very lucky. The bullet hit bone instead of your heart."

 _Some luck,_ he thought.

Still, even after he left the hospital, he wasn't much better. His mind was still a mess. He kept thinking about that failed attempt and how, maybe next time, he'd do it right. There was one new hallucination he started having, where he'd hear thunderous knocking at the door to their apartment. It scared the living hell out of him, because he thought people were coming to kill him. Whenever he heard it, he'd cower behind the couch.

One day, Walter decided to stop by to check in on Max. He hadn't seen him in a while, and he certainly hoped he was alright. Maximiliane answered. "Hello, Frau Vandenburg. Is Max here?"

She nodded.

"Well, may I see him?"

She sighed. "I don't think it would be good for him to have visitors right now."

His heart sank a little. "Oh, why is that?"

"He.... he tried to kill himself two weeks ago."

"Again?"

She nodded. "He's just in a very bad place right now. So... we should give him his space, don't you think?"

"Oh, of course. I.... I understand." He turned to leave. "Have a good day, Frau Vandenburg."

"You, too, Walter."

When he got home, he cried. For Max. He was shocked at the depth of his feelings about Max. He'd never felt that heaviness in his heart for _anyone._ What was it about him?

He knew this world was hostile, and would become even more so. All he could do was hope his friend would make it.


	6. Chapter 6

Max returned to work, trying to act like everything was normal. But it wasn't. He was almost completely isolated from his coworkers, just like the other Jews at the company. And one afternoon, Katja came home from school crying because some Hitler Youth kids had pelted her with rocks while she was walking to class. A couple teachers had seen it from a window, and they did nothing about it. When she told him about this, he just held her. There was nothing he could do about it but attempt to console her.

On hearing about this, Ruth was _angry_. She went to the head of school about it. He simply sighed, and then, swearing her to secrecy, said, "Two of the boys who threw the rocks are the sons of Party officials, and one of them has an uncle in the Reichstag. If I punish them, I could lose my job, or worse." He looked up and said, "I'm very, very sorry about what they did to your daughter, but.... my hands are tied."

Unsatisfied with this response, she got up and left. "Goodbye, Herr Altergott."

Walter didn't speak to Max much while they were at work. He figured after the suicide attempt, he needed his space. Besides, he was quite busy himself. He had chosen to wait a year before applying to university, so now, egged on by his parents, he was applying to different universities, including his father's alma mater, the University of Mannheim.

Max could tell Walter was worried about him, even if he didn't say it. He saw it in the way he looked over at him while they were working, how he kept trying to talk to him, but never did. He hated seeing him like this. He didn't want Walter to have to suffer because of him. He wanted to tell him that everything was fine, even though it really wasn't, just so he would stop worrying.

Sometimes, he found himself staring at Walter. The man _was_ interesting to look at, after all. The defined architecture of his face. The blonde hair. The icy blue eyes. One day, though, his gaze focused on Walter's lips, and a thought crossed his mind of kissing them. Just to try it, of course. Shocked, he shook his head rapidly to get the thought out of his head. _I am_ not _a homosexual. Why would I think_ that?

Finally, one Saturday in mid-December, Max decided that perhaps he should go and visit Walter. It had been a little bit since they'd seen each other, and he hadn't been out in a few months besides to go to work. Besides, it would be a better use of his time than laying in bed all day, staring at the ceiling. So he got dressed and made his way to Walter's house, over in Bad Cannstatt. It was a nice residential area, with beautiful old architecture and lots of trees. But because it was winter, the trees were bare and glistening with snow.

He knocked on the door, his heart beating fast. _Wait, why am I nervous about this_? He looked down and shuffled his feet a little. Just then, he heard the door open. "Hello, Max."

He looked up. "Oh! Walter! Hello."

"It's nice to see you. Come in."

So he followed him in and took off his coat and shoes. He couldn't hear or see anyone else in the house. "Please, sit down," said Walter.

They sat down on the couch together. It was Walter who started the conversation. "We haven't seen each other in a while. How are you?"

"Well...." Max figured he should be honest. "I've been better." He paused. "You know, this is the first time I've been out in a couple months that _wasn't_ to go to work."

"Well, congratulations! That's a step!"

He smiled a little. "Yes, it is."

Walter could tell his friend still wasn't himself. So he decided to try and cheer him up by talking about.... movies. Yes. That seemed like a good topic. They both loved movies, and when they were in school, they'd spent many an afternoon at the movies. "I'm afraid I never asked you. What's your favorite film?" God, that sounded so stupid as he said it.

"Hmmm...." Max tried to remember all the movies he'd watched. Then he smiled at a memory of going to the theater with his mother as a little boy, at the time a rare treat. The film was a silly one. _Cock of the Roost._ "Probably _Cock of the Roost._ I watched it with my mother when I was nine." He chuckled to himself a little. "I suppose it's more my favorite because of the memory associated with it, because the day we saw it was my birthday. And it was the last birthday before we moved in with my uncle. We were really struggling, but..... I would never have thought we were, because my mother did such a good job of hiding it from me. I guess now that I'm older, I appreciate what she did for me more. She really did try to make the best of our situation." He sighed. "Anyway, what's _your_ favorite film, Walter?"

 _Wow._ Walter's favorite film certainly didn't have a sentimental memory attached to it. "Mine is _The Blue Angel._ "

"Oh, that's a good one, too."

After a bit, he asked, "So, where is everyone?"

"Papa has to work today, and Mama's Christmas shopping. And Bruno..." He sighed. "He's off doing who knows what."

Max knew perfectly well the type of things Bruno Kugler did all day, so he knew that the man was either cracking skulls or trying to impress some girl. Walter knew this, too, but he guessed he just didn't want to say it. So he changed the subject by saying, "How are applications going?"

"A bit stressful, but I'm sure it'll be worth it." If the circumstances were normal, he'd tell Max that perhaps he should try applying to university, too. But with this new government, everything was so strange and unpredictable that there was no telling what could happen. 

They sat there in silence for a bit, neither knowing what else to say. For some reason, Max felt this lightness in his stomach. Walter turned to face him and smiled. "You know, I just love being here with you."

"I do, too." Max couldn't describe what it was he was feeling. Calm, yes, but something else, too. It was just this warm, pleasant feeling that washed over him.

Walter inched a bit closer, his heart racing. _Should I do it?_ Remembering what he'd seen Herbert do with a girl once, he placed an arm around Max, then leaned in to kiss him.

Max saw him leaning forward and immediately knew what he was trying to do. _Oh, God._ He'd imagined kissing Walter before, but this was the real thing! He came in to meet him, and they kissed. It was almost exactly as he'd imagined, soft and sweet.

Not quite certain what to do from here, Walter slipped his tongue into Max's mouth. _Is this a bad idea?_ Max had done this with Tania, but he'd never been the recipient of such a kiss. It felt strange, but not in a bad way. He knew by now this wasn't a chaste kiss. It was passionate, intimate, _hot._

They parted, and it hit him. If anybody found out about this, they were both _fucked._ "Walter?"

"Yes?" He was tempted to add a pet name such as "baby" or "my love", but he wasn't sure how Max would react.

"Can we.... can we agree to put this past us? I.... I don't think I'm ready to be in a relationship with a.... another _man_ , I mean....."

He swallowed hard, a bit disappointed. "Of course. I understand."

Max got up and put on his coat. "Well, Walter, I must be going. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."


	7. Chapter 7

Max tried not to think about that kiss in the days that followed. What had he been _thinking_? Did he really love Walter in that way? That he still didn't know. And if he _didn't_ love him like that, then why had he made him believe he did?

In March, he got a girlfriend. Hildi Geier. She was rich and often quite bored, so she was known for seeking out adventure, wherever she could find it. Her hair was the color of honey, and her lips were pink as a sunset. In retrospect, Max didn't think he really liked her. At least, not in the romantic sense. She was a nice girl, though. Smart, funny. Easy to go out with.

Their relationship wasn't much for a while, just kisses and walks in the park. It reminded him of being a teenager. There were a few occasions where they made love, but his mind was always somewhere else. And one day in June, he was walking home from work when he looked at a random woman on the street and found himself thinking about having sex with her. _Oh, God, what have I done?_ Thinking these things felt like a betrayal, and yet....

More often, though, there were fantasies about Walter. Kissing him, stroking his hair. One night, in his room, he dreamed about undressing Walter. Slowly, so he could really take in his body. He could almost feel the nervous anticipation that came with unbuttoning his shirt and unbuckling his belt. But the fantasy melted away, and he just sat there in shock. Why had he thought that? And why the hell was he getting a hard-on thinking about it? 

Things came to a head, though, one August day when he showed up for work. The foreman, a stern man named Kluge, told him he needed to speak to him. Oh, God. _What could this be about?_ "Yes, Herr Kluge?"

He sighed. "I'm afraid I'll have to let you go." He scratched the back of his neck. "Now it's not because of anything you've done, it's just that...."

Max nodded. He didn't need to say it. _It's because I'm a Jew, that's why._ "I understand, sir."

He left that day, feeling utterly defeated. What did he expect? And then his thoughts turned to Hildi. Their relationship was a nice distraction and all, but would it ever be something? He couldn't go on like this, trying to force something that would never be. And besides, he no longer had a job. What did he have to offer her? So he went over to her house and spoke to her. "Hildi, I have something important to tell you."

Hildi had a vague sense of what this was about. "What is it, Max?"

"I..." He sighed. "I think we should end this. We're.... I don't think it can last. I mean, all we do when we're together is kiss, or have sex, or what have you, and..."

"But that's the fun part."

"I know, and I liked it, too. But...." He tried to phrase his next thought. "We're too similar, I think. We both need purpose and direction, and I don't think we can give each other that. I mean, I just got fired from my job. I have nothing to give you."

"Oh, Max...."

"You don't know." He shook his head. "You don't know." Then he got up to leave. "I'm sorry it has to end like this. But.... just know that I still care about you, and I want you to be with someone who _can_ give you what you need."

Later that month, he scraped together his savings and bought himself an apartment. It was tiny and the landlady warned that sometimes, the heater didn't work. But having his own place made him feel like he had _some_ semblance of purpose. Still, sometimes, he'd get so lonely in that little apartment. His cousins' children weren't there to fill the place with their laughter and excited energy. They were so small and innocent. He wondered what it would be like for them, to grow up Jewish in this crazy world.

His cousin Sarah and her family moved to Vienna later that year. She'd argued about it with Ruth quite a bit. Ruth had wanted her to stay, because whatever this nonsense was, she wanted them to endure it together. "When we were growing up in Russia and hiding from the Cossacks most nights, what got us through it was knowing that we had each other."

"Well, I wouldn't want to raise my children in Russia, so I don't want to raise them here!"

They all saw her and her family off at the train station the night she left. The children said goodbye to their cousins, uncertain if they'd see them again. She gave them a sad smile as she boarded the train. "I'll send for you when I can. I promise."

His whole world felt like it was crashing down. After the suicide attempt of the previous year, he'd been seeing a therapist, but by now, he'd stopped going completely. _Oh, well. It's not like I can afford it, anyway._ At night, plagued by his own thoughts, he wondered if it would just be better to die than to stay alive in this world.

Having lost his job, he scrounged for work. One job he had for a while was doing construction. The pay was low and the work grueling, but he had to take what he could get. Beggars can't be choosers, after all. 

He found himself missing Walter terribly. They hadn't seen each other in a long while. Finally, one frigid day in January 1936, he went out to see him. As he walked out into the freezing wind, he was quite shocked at the sense of urgency around this whole thing. Why did it feel like he _needed_ him?

Finally, damn near chilled to the bone, he arrived at the house and knocked on the Kuglers' door. _Come on...._

Just when he thought he couldn't wait any longer, the door creaked open. "Hello?"

Max smiled at the voice and looked up. "Goddamn it, Walter, I've missed you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning!

Walter was glad to see Max again. They hadn't seen each other in a while, not since Max was let go. He wondered how _he_ was doing. "I've missed you, too, Max. Come in."

So he did. Walter was feeling quite awkward. _What do I say to him?_ "Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

They both sat on the couch, and Walter decided to start the conversation. "So, what have I missed?"

Max sighed. "Quite a lot."

"Oh? Tell me more."

"Well, I broke up with Hildi, for starters."

Alright, so he wasn't taken anymore. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." Another sigh. "I think we both needed it. But anyway.... I got myself an apartment and my cousin Sarah decided to move her family to Vienna. What's more, a month ago, my cousin Karl told us he was thinking about moving, too. But farther. To Palestine. It just seems like everyone's leaving. And I'm stuck here, with my shitty job, still not sure if I should stay or go." He chuckled dryly. "And I suppose this is a bad time for me to not be seeing my therapist. I mean, the voices have stopped, but....."

"Max, I-" He stopped there, because what could he possibly say? He had no idea what it was like. "It'll get better. Don't worry."

Max laughed a little. _Well, will it?_ "I _hope_ so. I mean, it's not like things can get any _worse_."

"Well, you know I'm here if you ever need anything."

"Yes, I know."

They sat there for a while, not saying anything. Max didn't know what compelled him to do this, but he inched closer to Walter. Just a bit. Then Walter tentatively reached his arm around him. Max looked over, and the other man blushed a bit. _Did I do something wrong?_

"Oh, Max, I didn't mean anything untoward, I just....."

"Walter." He actually found it a bit amusing, seeing how flustered he was. "It's alright." He nestled into the crook of his arm.

Just then, he felt that he couldn't pretend anymore. He'd quite liked kissing Walter, and he would gladly do it again. And now felt like the perfect time, so he leaned in to kiss him.

Walter was surprised that _Max_ was initiating the kiss this time. All this time, he'd thought he wasn't interested in him that way! He came in to meet him, and they kissed. Just like the previous time, it morphed into a deeper kiss. But then Max pulled away. "Walter, actually..... I think we need to talk."

"About what?"

"We can't keep going on like this. I mean, it's obvious that we like each other, but..... will we ever be something? Like, something that lasts?"

"Max, look. The thing is, you never know. But don't you think we ought to give it a shot?"

Max thought about this for a bit. Yes, it was illegal, and yes, it was dangerous. But really, what did he have to lose? Walter, on the other hand..... _well._ Oh, whatever. It wasn't like anyone would be looking inside. "I guess you're right."

So Walter moved in again, and they picked up where they'd left off. Walter's heart pounded. _I suppose I should just go ahead and try it._ So he attempted to push him back onto the couch, gently. "Are you ready?"

Max smiled. Of course he was. "Yes. Just.... nothing in.... you know...."

Walter chuckled a bit. "Yeah, I know. I'm not ready for that, either."

So, positioning himself on top of Max, he helped him off with his shirt and started to rock his hips on top of him.

Max quite liked the feeling. The harsh drag made him gasp. That warm feeling seemed to spread through him. So he was a bit disappointed when Walter moved off of him. But then he started to undo his belt, and he let out a small chuckle. _He's really doing this, is he?_

Walter had been wanting to try this for quite a while. But now he wasn't sure if he could do it right. _Relax,_ he reminded himself. _It'll be fine._ So he lowered his trousers and moved in.

Max put his hands in Walter's hair as his head bobbed in his lap. A moan escaped his mouth. Goddamn, this felt so good.... He didn't want this to stop, oh, no. Suddenly, he started to get very warm. "Walter," he said. "I-" He was cut off by a loud moan. 

As Walter's mouth began to fill with him, he knew he'd satisfied his friend- no, his _lover_ \- and was quite glad. After swallowing, he slowly pulled himself up and stroked Max's hair. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Walter." He smiled and sat up a little. "Now I've got to do the same thing to you."

* * *

They lay in each other's arms, refreshed and exhausted. "Well," said Max, putting his shirt back on. "I should be going." 

"Already?"

"Yes." He looked over at Walter and smiled. "Goodbye, my love. Hopefully, we'll do this more often."

"G-goodbye, love."

They kissed, and Max put on his coat and shoes and left. As he walked back to his apartment, he felt lighter. _Happier._ He thought to himself, _Goddamn. I just love that man so much._

The other members of the Kugler household returned, by which point Walter had gotten dressed and cleaned himself up. He greeted his family with a smile. "Hello, there."

"Hello, Walter," said his mother. "What are you so happy about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular."

"Alright, then." But she couldn't help but notice that he had a different air about him.


	9. Chapter 9

They continued to see each other after that, whenever they could. Max was often busy, either working or job-hunting (more often the latter), and Walter was juggling classes and his new job at a printing firm. They both looked forward to those days (or nights) when they could be alone together. The outside world may have treated Max worse than dirt, but with Walter, he could rest in the assurance that he was important to at least one person. The way Walter genuinely cared about him made him feel loved, appreciated. One summer night, he kissed his forehead and stroked his hair, and Max thought it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done to him.

For the longest time, nobody suspected a thing. When Walter's family returned home, he'd get his books and pretend like he'd been doing coursework the entire time. And he'd wonder if it occurred to any of them that just a half hour earlier, he'd been skin-to-skin with another man, telling him how much he loved him _in this very house_. At Max's place, there was less of a risk of his parents finding out. And even if the neighbors heard, they didn't know who he was. 

But one evening in December, they were sitting together on Walter's couch, their arms around each other, when they heard a key turn in the door. Quickly, they parted. It was none other than Erwin Kugler. Tall, spindly, blonde. "Hello, Herr Kugler," said Max, feeling quite flustered.

Erwin offered a slight nod in his direction. "Hello, Max."

Max's heart pounded in his chest. He wondered if the man noticed the sweat that stuck their hair to their foreheads even though it was December, or his flushed face, or that his shirt wasn't buttoned all the way. "Well," he said, getting up. "I was just about to leave." He turned to Walter. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

He walked home in the night, shuddering a bit from the cold and sheer nerves. _What will happen to Walter after this? Does he suspect anything?_

A few days later, as Walter was doing his coursework, his parents sat down with him and asked to speak to him about something important. "What is it?"

His mother sighed. "Walter, your father and I have been wondering. Are you...."

"Am I what?"

"Are you a homosexual?"

 _So they_ did _suspect something!_ "N-no, I'm not. Why do you ask?"

His father chimed in. "You haven't seemed to show any interest in women, and...... well, I don't feel comfortable saying the other things in front of your mother, but.... let's just say there were some things that worried me."

"Well, I can assure you I am _not_ a homosexual. I just haven't found the right girl yet."

"Alright."

But that night, his father went into his room speak to him, privately this time. "Walter," he said, his voice low. "I need you to look me in the eye and answer me honestly. Are you and Max having homosexual relations?"

He looked his father in the eye. "No, Papa."

"Are you certain? Because I saw one of his socks on your bedroom floor back in August. And a few days ago, I noticed his face was _quite_ flushed."

Walter could feel himself grow warm with embarrassment. The idea of his father knowing what he'd been doing with Max.... "He took his sock off because he had a blister that day. And he was flushed because we were fighting."

"Well, Walter, if you _are_ homosexual, there are very effective treatments for it. I promise you you will still be able to have a normal relationship......"

"I'm not homosexual."

"Alright, then. Alright." So he left the room, but not before giving him a suspicious glance over his shoulder.

As he lay awake that night, he thought, _I have to break this off. Just for a little bit, so my parents don't get suspicious._

The next time Walter saw Max again, he gulped as he told him the news. "We can't see each other anymore. I think my family's getting suspicious."

Max was disappointed, but definitely not surprised. "Well, that's understandable." He hugged Walter. "Goodbye, I suppose."

"Goodbye." He tried to reassure him. "It'll just be for a little while, don't worry. Just until my parents are off my back."

But in the back of his mind, he didn't know if it would _really_ be for a "little while".


	10. Chapter 10

Max had bigger things to worry about. Like how he was going to keep the lights on, put food on the table, pay the rent. He had to forage for work, pretty much. There was many a night where he'd go to bed without supper. Sometimes, he'd wonder if things could get any worse.

Walter, meanwhile, was disappointed in how it had all ended. He found himself thinking about Max quite a bit. He'd hated to leave him like that. The man was the love of his life. But if his father found out he liked men.....

His parents were still a bit suspicious, but they were starting to lay off of him a little bit. Just a little. In order to decrease their suspicion, he decided to start going out and meeting girls. It was just like when he was younger and experimenting with dating girls. _Perhaps if I find myself a girlfriend, they'll stop being suspicious. It'll be easy, right? When we kiss, I can just pretend I'm kissing Max._ But whenever he went to the club and watched the girls, he'd sigh, because he knew this wasn't him.

Max remained close to his family, and he knew that they were really struggling. Worse than he'd seen in years, now that he thought of it. His mother didn't have a job, and she and Ruth had to scavenge for work, just like he did. He wanted to help them out somehow, but what could he do? He barely had enough money for himself.

On the bright side, he enjoyed seeing his cousins' children. They were adorable and endearing, and they always brought a smile to his face. But he would always wonder how they could stay so innocent under the circumstances.

At one point, he figured he ought to tell his mother about his feelings for Walter. He knew he was taking a risk, but it was just weighing on his mind so much he had to tell _someone._ So he sat her down one day when he visited. "Mama, I have something to tell you."

She gulped and remembered how he'd told her about his cutting. "What is it, Max?'

"I..." He sighed. "For the longest time, I had.... _feelings_ for.... Walter."

She went silent for a bit, then nodded. "I figured." She chuckled a little. "With how much time you spent with him, I could tell."

Max was _relieved._ _She's not angry!_ "So.... you're alright with it?"

"Of course I am, my son." She sighed. "Do you remember your aunt Marta?"

Of course he did! She was the one who took care of him when his mother was too depressed to do so. "Yes, why?"

"Well..., she loved women. And I was the only person she told. We were both quite young, when she told me." She straightened up a bit. "And when she did, at first, I couldn't comprehend the idea. But as I grew older, I learned that there were women who loved women, and men who loved men. People will love who they love, no matter what anyone says. And just who am I to interfere with that?" She hugged him. "You don't have to worry, Max. No matter what, I will always love you."

* * *

In March 1938, the Vandenburgs read in the news about Hitler's conquest of Austria. Their thoughts went to Sarah and her family, and they worried about what this would mean for them. Would they go through the same hell as they were going through now?

In that year, Max and Walter's encounters were few and far between. But through each visit, they received some information as to how their lives were going. Walter was majoring in economics at the University of Mannheim, believing to be an easy, safe thing to do. That was Walter. Always going for what was safe. But he'd put his studies on hold, just briefly, to join the military (at his father's urging). And in May, he found out that he was seeing someone else, a woman. This news hurt Max a bit, but he understood. They both had to move on so nobody would get suspicious. The woman in question was a certain Gerde. Pretty, yes. But Walter said to Max that evening, "I don't love her. But if I'm with a woman, my parents will stop thinking I'm a homosexual."

Max nodded and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Walter. I understand. It's alright."

His family got news from Sarah, and according to her, things were changing very quickly in Vienna. Jews were humiliated in the streets on a daily basis. By April, her children weren't attending school, because Jewish students weren't allowed to go to school with "Aryan" ones. So now she had to teach them herself so they didn't run wild. "He's everywhere," she wrote. "We thought we could escape him, but everywhere we go, there he is." Max read this and was suddenly very scared.

In July, there was an order that any Jew over 15 had to apply for an identity card. Max figured he could accept this stipulation. After all, considering every other law that had been passed, he could surely handle this one, right?

He stood in line at the police station that afternoon, with loads of other unfortunate young men. He sighed. This is what his life had come to. All his hopes and dreams, to waiting in line for a stern police officer to give him some piece of paper.

The summer stretched on, long and tortuous. There were the obligatory dealings with bureaucracy, the daily humiliations. But it wasn't until October that he had any idea just how bad things could get.

Ruth was from Russia originally, as were some of Max's friends. And towards the end of that month, they all received an order that they were to deported to Poland. A place many of them hadn't seen in years. But it was an order, and, fearing what would happen if they didn't comply, they packed their bags, said goodbye to those they knew, and went to the train station.

One of Max's friends, Jakob Eckstein, fell into this category. They'd known each other since primary school. It was surreal that they'd be apart, for who knew how long. Despite his better judgment, Max was crying. "Hey," said Jakob. "I'll write you. I promise."

But both men knew this was a false promise.

Saying goodbye to Ruth, though, was harder. Here was a woman who'd pretty much raised him when his mother couldn't. "I'll be alright," she said. "Poland can't be much worse than here."

On the night of November 9, Max figured he'd pay a visit to his family. He hadn't seen them in a while, and he thought they might want a little support after losing Ruth. Isaac and his family came, too. And Sarah thought she might as well.

For a while, he was having a pleasant evening, playing with his second-cousins and listening to the older ones complain about school. Then, at around eleven, they began to hear screaming and glass shattering. _What's_ _happening?_ They gathered in the living room, thinking they'd be safer if they were together.

Sarah was shaking, so Max held her hand. "It'll be alright," he told her. But what the hell did he know?

There was a knock on the door, along with an "Open up!" and everyone gasped. Who could it be? Someone there to ransack their home? Well, if it _was,_ he wouldn't knock. So Isaac got up, slowly, to answer the door.

It was Walter, wearing his military uniform. His heart pounded. He knew he needed to get Max the hell out of here, and _fast._ He had no idea _what_ was about to happen, but he could tell it wasn't good. "Listen, I can only take one of you."

His mother put an arm around him. "Take Max."

Max gasped. "No."

"Please! Just take him!"

"Mama......" He turned to her. _Please, God, let me live._ "I.... I can't leave without you."

"Please just go." It was Sarah this time, her eyes filling with tears. "Please."

So, slowly, he got up. His mother opened a drawer and gave him a piece of paper. "Go find him."

He looked his mother in the eye for what might be the last time, then kissed her. "Goodbye."

And he left with Walter, on into the cold, forbidding night. _Just one last look._ So he looked back at his apartment and sighed. Would he see any of them ever again?


	11. Chapter 11

After repeatedly checking over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching them, Walter led Max to a warehouse, in the place he used to work. "I don't think anybody goes in here," he whispered. 

Max looked into the dark space. It was gloomy and cold, and it looked pretty empty. "I'm sorry, I know it's not much. I can bring you food, blankets, water, anything you need."

"Thank you so much."

"It's the least I can do." Walter took one last look over his shoulder. "Now go inside, before somebody notices."

As he left, his heart was racing. _Did anybody see?_ You couldn't trust _anyone_ these days. One little complaint from a neighbor could put you away for good.

As the weeks wore on, Max could feel himself unraveling once again. First, it was the crying that didn't seem to be triggered by anything. Then he started to hear things again. Most commonly, he'd have the hallucination where he'd hear loud knocking. This scared him even more than usual, because of his precarious position. If anyone knew he was in here, the consequences would be disastrous.

The nightmares were constant. He'd see his family, and their haunted eyes staring back at him, and he'd be reminded of what he'd done to them. Why had he left them like that? And the moment he left, he didn't feel an ounce of sorrow for them. Instead, he was _relieved._ Why did he have to be so damn selfish? Why couldn't he have spared a thought for them?

There were more than a few occasions where he'd see his mother, or his aunt, or Sarah standing in the doorway. They never said anything, just looked at him. Still, even that was enough to make his stomach churn.

Walter knew he had to move on with his life. On the surface, everything was still normal. He had a job and a girlfriend. Still, he was consumed with thoughts of Max. He tried to make his trips to the warehouse as inconspicuous as possible, but he would still get a sneaking feeling that somebody was watching him and reporting him to the police right this minute.

He brought what he could, small bags of food, a few blankets. Sometimes, he'd look in on Max's family, as well. Every time he visited, Frau Vandenburg always looked scared. She would scan the hallway for people, and she'd jump at the slightest noise. She'd ask after her son's well-being, and Walter would always say that he was doing alright. 

But he couldn't even be certain of _that_. Every time he went to the storeroom, something seemed.... _off_ about his friend. He was constantly tense, and he could just tell he hadn't been sleeping. He heard things that weren't there. And one time, Walter caught him whispering to an invisible person.

One night in January, Walter went to see him. He probably shouldn't have been shocked at what he saw, but Max's appearance was still pretty jarring. He was dirty and disheveled, and he looked gaunt and ill. His heart sank.

"What are you doing here, Walter?" he whispered. He had that panicked look in his eyes.

"Max, I just came here to bring you some food and check up on you." He approached him tentatively. "It's alright."

"Alright." He took a breath in an attempt to steady himself. "Alright."

Walter's provisions were bread and a bottle of water. "Here you go."

Max took the bread, but he didn't want to eat it just yet. _I need to save what I can get._ So for the longest time, he sat there, staring at it, trying to ignore the hunger pangs.

"Come on. Eat it."

Shakily, Max took a bite. And his hunger took over from there. He hadn't eaten in a few days, so he ate rather quickly.

When Max was finished eating, Walter was about to leave, but he tugged his friend's arm and said, "Please. Please don't leave."

"Max, I'm sorry. I have to."

"Please!"

He saw the desperation in his friend's eyes. "I..... I suppose I can stay a while."

Max started to cry. "I want to die! Why couldn't you just let me die?"

Walter pulled Max into his arms. He was cold as ice, but maybe the heat from his body would warm him up a bit. "Because I care about you. I wouldn't want you to die." But he started to wonder. Was it really worth it, to let him live? What did he have to live for, really? 

He held him for a while, until Max's exhaustion took over and he fell asleep. Walter ran his hands through his hair. He knew he still harbored feelings for Max, but what did it matter now? Whatever. No time to think about that. It was quite late. So he pulled the blanket over him and kissed his forehead. "I love you." But what did those words mean now?

He went out into the cold night, looking back towards the storeroom. He prayed, to no one in particular, _Please don't let him die. If he dies, I don't know what I'd do._


	12. Chapter 12

Every hour in the storeroom was like an eternity. Having nothing to do and nowhere to go, he was alone with the dark thoughts in his head. Sleep provided a temporary reprieve, but he knew that if he slept, he was putting himself in danger.

Meanwhile, Walter was still bringing him food, although he had to dial down his visits because he was convinced someone suspected something. Perhaps a watchful neighbor, or a police officer. Once, a passerby looked at the big package of food he was carrying and asked what it was for. "Oh, I'm just making a delivery to that warehouse," was his response. _He doesn't know what I'm delivering, though._

Receiving news from the outside world helped some with the crushing isolation. Max would ask him about his girlfriend, his family, just any scrap of the world outside that room. "It has to be spring by now," he said one day. "Tell me what it's like."

And so Walter told him, of the crisp air, the chirping birds, the world starting to wake up from the slumber that was winter. Max shook his head in disbelief as he heard this. How could it be so beautiful outside when the world had turned so ugly?

The world had never been particularly kind to them, doubly so for Max. But all that had happened in the last six years was almost unreal. His mother had always told him that everything happened for a reason, but what the hell was the reason for _this_?

One day, Walter arrived in the storeroom with a pack of food, as usual. But because of the day, he put something extra in there. A jar of jam, a rare commodity now. Raspberry. He brought it to Max, attempted a smile, and said, "Happy birthday."

His birthday. Max had almost forgotten. He was twenty-three years old that day. He'd lived another year. Not that it really mattered. "Thank you."

He didn't want to eat the jam just yet, so he pushed it away from himself so he wouldn't be tempted. But as soon as Walter left, he took the jar and spoon and ate the entire thing. Made himself half-sick, but he didn't care. 

A month later, Walter went in to check on the Vandenburgs once again. He hadn't seen them in a few months now, being busy with his own life and not wanting to arouse suspicion. But perhaps now, when he had a free day, he could look in on them and see if anything had changed.

When he arrived at their apartment, he knocked on the door. After waiting for what felt like forever, someone he didn't recognize answered the door. It was a man who looked to be around forty, with brown hair and a rabbit-like nose. "May I help you, sir?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was looking for Frau Vandenburg... does she still live here?"

"No. She moved out back in March."

 _Now_ he wanted to know what had happened. "Did... did you buy this place from her?"

"Yes. I didn't know the circumstances, but she seemed very, very distraught." He paused. "Would you like to come in? You look like you could use a drink."

"No thank you, sir, I have to go." He turned to leave. "Have a good afternoon."

"You, too, young man."

He relayed the news to Max. _I should have expected that,_ he thought. He could tell something bad had happened, otherwise his mother wouldn't have sold the apartment in such a hurry. "I'm so sorry, Max. I really don't know what happened."

"Walter. It's fine."

As time went on, both men realized that this arrangement might not last. Max needed a proper place to stay, but where would he go? His family's apartment was occupied. As for his own place, he knew he'd get thrown out eventually. What's more, the situation was getting more and more precarious. One wrong move and he and Walter would both be in deep, deep shit. Then he remembered the address his mother had given him the night he left. Molching. 33 Himmelstrasse. Hans Hubermann. He didn't know much about this man other than that he'd visited their apartment when he was very little and played his father's accordion, and that he'd promised to help Frau Vandenburg if she ever needed it. 

The next time Walter visited, they talked about this. "Listen, I'll go down there and find this man. If he's turned into a Nazi- which is very likely- I'll just turn around." He attempted to smile. "At least we know then, right, Max?"

He nodded. "That's sensible."

"And now I just need to think of a good excuse, because I'm probably going to be out the entire day."

"Well, you could tell your parents that your commander's making you train over the weekend."

He laughed. "That's a good one. Thanks."

In this situation, he couldn't resist a little bit of gallows humor. "Hey, you live in secret, you get pretty good at bullshitting."

The day he made the trip, he couldn't help but go back to that warehouse and say goodbye to Max. "Alright. Moment of truth."

"Yeah." For him, this could make or break his life. _This could be my last hope._

"Well, I'll see you as soon as I can, and I'll let you know how it went."

"Thank you for doing this. It means a lot." He kissed him on the cheek, and the other man raised his eyebrows. "For luck. Don't tell Gerde."

He put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't need luck. You will." He turned to leave. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

And once again, Max was left alone.


	13. Chapter 13

Walter stepped off of the train in Molching, heart pounding. _This has to work out._ He left the train station, trying to mask his nerves. This was probably Max's only chance. 

Because it was pretty late, he found a place to turn in for the night, a little inn just outside of town. He could barely sleep, though, his mind racing. What if Herr Hubermann- like most everyone- had turned his back on Max? What would they do then?

As he thought about Max, he remembered that kiss on the cheek and that fluttery feeling he got from it. He hadn't felt anything like that in a while. He liked Gerde as a person, but that didn't stop him from feeling empty somehow whenever they were together. Around Max, he didn't feel that emptiness. In fact, it was quite the opposite. When they were together, he felt a deep, deep love for him, even after all these years. But now was not the time for such feelings. Not under the circumstances. 

The next morning, he got up early and showed up at 33 Himmel Street at seven, just as it was warming up a bit. The man who lived there was leaving the house. He looked to be in his mid-forties, and he was dragging a cart of paint cans behind him. Hans Hubermann, the painter. Walter followed him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them. His stomach churned and his heart raced as he thought about what he might say to him. He'd need to carefully code his language, but in a way the other man would understand. _Just how the hell will I do that?_

Hans stopped at a house a few streets away from his own. The paint was peeling off of the boards, so he was here to fix it up, make it look nice again. He turned to look at the blonde stranger. What was _he_ here for?

"Would you be Hans Hubermann?"

He nodded. "Yes, I would."

So _that_ was settled. But, just to make sure, he decided to throw in one of the few details about him Max remembered. "Do you play the accordion, by any chance?"

Hans had an idea of what this was about now. He remembered visiting Erik's widow in Stuttgart all those years ago, how she asked him to play Erik's accordion for her. And he'd promised the woman that if there was anything she needed, she could call on him. Perhaps now she was taking him up on this offer. He put his paintbrush down and nodded once again.

After looking over his shoulder, Walter asked, "Are you a man who likes to keep a promise?"

Hans set out two paint cans. "Here, why don't you have a seat, young man? I think we should sit down for this."

Walter cleared his throat. "My name's Kugler. Walter. I come from Stuttgart." He sat on one of the paint cans and looked around once again. Thankfully, there was no one out right now. Still, he dropped his voice to a whisper."Are you a member?"

Hans knew full well what he was talking about. "No."

 _Phew._ "In that case..... would you and your family be alright with having a..... _visitor?_ "

"Yes, I can arrange something."

For about fifteen minutes, they kept talking, having quiet and coded exchanges, looking over their shoulders every once in a while. Hans gave him a small amount of money, to pay for Max's ticket. "Thank you so much."

"It's the least I can do. A promise is a promise."

They agreed to meet up later, at night, to discuss this in more depth.

* * *

Max waited anxiously for him to return. Once again, each hour felt like torture. He heard the knocking almost every two hours now. He refused to let himself sleep, convinced that if he wasn't careful, someone would find him in here.

Walter came back, glad that the trip had been successful. But Max looked _awful_. He was shaky and had dark circles under his eyes. The two embraced, and Max asked, "And?"

He recounted the details he'd gleaned from speaking with Herr Hubermann. "Everything's going to be alright, Max." But as he said it, he wasn't so sure if that was true. _It was luck. Sheer luck._ "Now please get some sleep."

"I can't." His eyes darted. "It's not safe."

That was true..... "Don't worry, Max. I'll be here. I'll keep you safe. Now sleep. You'll need it."

It took a while for Max to fall asleep, but eventually, feeling a bit safer (and very, _very_ tired), he did. Walter looked over at him and sighed. He remembered lying in bed with Max, watching him fall asleep in his arms. Those times were much simpler by comparison. He knew it was no use wallowing in old memories, but he couldn't help it. "Sleep well." He kissed his forehead, stroked his hair, and got up to leave. 

The next order of business was figuring out when Max would leave. Things were getting progressively worse out there, so they had to be decisive. Over the next year or so, Hans sent supplies, whenever he could. 

Walter's visits were getting fewer and further between. Max figured he could live with that. There was a world outside of this storeroom, and Walter was a part of it. Max was not.

Both parties wished to delay this journey, but they knew it would eventually have to be made. Max would have to make the trip by himself, and under the cover of darkness. The night is always unpredictable. You never know what- or who- is waiting for you.

In May 1940, Hans sent a copy of _Mein Kampf_ with a key taped to the inside cover. Max and Walter thought it was smart. The quintessential German book. Perfect for throwing off suspicion. He'd clearly put quite a bit of thought into this.

The time came, six months later, when Walter was informed that he would be deployed. To Poland. This wasn't a combat position, so he was relieved. The idea of going into combat had always terrified him. He remembered his father telling him about the things he'd seen in the Great War. Men getting blown to pieces if they made one wrong step. Corpses with their eyes flung open, left there to rot. A lot of the men in his platoon were eager to fight and die for their country, but he wasn't so sure if this new government was even worth fighting for. 

He moved Max into another, brighter storeroom so he wouldn't be stuck in the dark all the time. In the time before he was to leave, he managed to visit him as much as he could. Then, the day before he was to leave, after saying the obligatory goodbyes to his girlfriend- now his fiance- and his family, he paid him one last visit.

When Walter arrived, Max was sitting on his suitcase. "I'm leaving soon," he told him. "You know how it is- the army."

"I'm sorry, Walter." But he didn't know why he said that. What the hell did he have to be _sorry_ for?

Walter placed a hand on his shoulder. "It could be worse. I could be you."

He gave him a small package and a ticket, which he slid into the copy of _Mein Kampf._ "Page thirteen. For luck, yes?" He attempted a smile, hoping it came across as more genuine than it felt.

"For luck." _That's all I can rely on, really._

They embraced, unsure if they'd see each other again after this. For the longest time, they stood, holding each other. They didn't know what the future held, but now, just for a few more moments, they had each other.

Walter left for Poland on November 2, 1940. And on November 3, Max left the storeroom in the dead of night and boarded his train. Both men were living lies, and they knew it. But they had to. Survival was the priority now. Love could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the end of this work! The next one in the series is about Max's life after the war, and it'll explore some of Walter's life and his relationship with Max, as well.


End file.
